Read Online Executive Dirt: A Sedona O'Hala Mystery by Maria Schneider - Free Book Online Page A

burglaries have been impossible to trace, I suspect the culprits are not counting on something as obvious as Pig Latin,”  Mark said.
    “Probably not, but Joe was very proud of using it. And none of this really gives us a clue as to why someone murdered Joe.”
    “I’d feel better about your safety if it has something to do with the burglaries and nothing to do with Borgot.”
    “Maybe. But if that is the case, it’s very odd that he was killed at Borgot.”
    “True.”
    When we were finished eating, Mark lifted the serger back onto the table. “Looks like you already have this machine ready for your first project,” he noted.
    “I threaded them both if that’s what you mean.  I’m not sure the serger will actually run, but it has enough threads in there to make a pair of pants by itself.”
    Mark grinned. “You sound like you’d like that.”
    “Better it than me.” I showed him the inside. “Can you believe this mess? Every time a thread breaks the instructions say to unthread every single one of these and start completely over.  It’s like a bad joke.”  I sat down at the controls, which in this case meant sitting in front of the machine with my foot over the pedal.  I turned it on.  “It’s set to do a rolled hem, but I haven’t tried it yet.”
    I pulled a small piece of blue cloth from the bag of odds and ends Barb had sold me.  She had called it broadcloth, but this was only a “remnant” about the size of a large scarf.  “Okay.” I stared at the blue cloth.  I looked at Mark.
    “Are you going to try it now?” His bemused challenge was just short of a laugh.
    “Why not?”
    He didn’t answer.  Neither did the machine.  It sat silently, not telling me whether to first roll and press the hem and then stick it under there or just put material in and see what happened.  I’m big on the “try and see” method of learning. “Rolled hem plate. Yup. Got that. Threads. Check. Light, check.  Machine set to thin material.  If I did it right, anyway.” The machine was as ready as it was going to get.
    “Looks good to me,” Mark said.
    “What do I have to lose?  Other than fingers.  Maybe my whole arm if the thing sucks me under there.  My hair could get caught. If this thing hurts me, I’m going to set all of your brother’s clothes on fire,” I muttered.
    Mark laughed, filling the room with a warmth only he could ignite.
    I placed the end under the guide, feeling more confident with Mark there to save me should the machine decide to attack.
    Gently, I pressed the foot switch. The serger was loud. Very loud.  It sounded like a plane was taking off. If Mark was still laughing, I could no longer hear him above the roar of the engine in this thing.
    Determined to show no fear, I pressed harder on the foot pedal.
    The machine grabbed the material and yanked it from my fingers. Needles pounded, and snapping noises filled in around the plane engine.  The spools of thread jerked hard.  Vibrations shivered across the table like thunder booming after a lightning strike.
    “Aaaagh.” As I scooted back in self-defense, my foot slammed down on the pedal, sealing the fate of the scrap of blue material. The needle slashed into the cloth like a knife, cutting it to certain death with threads.
    As soon as I remembered to take my foot off the pedal, the roaring beast stopped.  There was no smoke, but the thread running through the needle had snapped under the pressure.
    Mark peered over my shoulder. “It isn’t a very straight hem.”
    “No, but it’s definitely rolled.” I tugged on the cloth tentatively.  “You might even say it’s bunched.”  The machine had not fed the material under and then out the back end. It had added a lot of thread to it though. “I think this piece may be bound to the machine permanently.”
    “Yeah. Sewn tight. Open and sewn case.”  Mark grinned down at me.  “Mom sews. She can help you with this.”
    “What?” I blinked. “The one who